I’ve dubbed this past June “the month of bombshells.” The shells started flying in May, when a routine visit with my ophthalmologist morphed into what seems like a lifelong relationship. But I don’t mind; he’s on the cutting edge of medicine and a nice guy.

However, I wasn’t prepared to hear that I needed cataract surgery in both eyes.

In January, my son Jeff and I were chatting about this and that — just an ordinary phone conversation, or so I thought. He was recounting his trip to Sicily, discussing the election results, the weather and, smack in the middle of our exchange, he said, “And Mom, it looks like you’re gonna finally be a grandma!” Jeff then continued the conversation — one-sided now!

A widowed friend was picking my brain about how to meet eligible men. The idea of dating after many years of marriage terrified her. She knew I “came out” and tested the shark-infested waters also known as dating. READ

It’s always a trip, literally and figuratively, to visit my adult kids in California. When we’re together, our conversations gravitate to the “remember whens.” Our individual recollections vacillate widely: joyful, hilarious or downright sad. This visit, we reminisced about “Christmas past” — a season we shared in another time and place, a lifetime ago. READ

I’m a people watcher, but hold on: I don’t peek through windows or engage in stalking or gawking, nothing creepy like that. Wherever or whatever I’m doing, I usually find something that sparks my interest.

Growing up, one of Mom’s famous “Mom-isms” was “Celia! Act your age.” Jeez! How I hated those words. Now that I am a gal of a certain age, I get ticked off when some 30-something magazine editor tells me to dress age appropriately — in other words, “ to act my age.”